


Like I like my honey

by bellarxse (AlphaBanana)



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaBanana/pseuds/bellarxse
Summary: Maeve and Marisol in the Villa(If this works, hopefully collecting Marisol x MC one-shots in a more streamlined way. If it doesn't, I'll burn this whole site down.)
Relationships: Marisol/Main Character (Love Island)
Kudos: 9





	1. The first time ever I saw your face

_Cool it, O’Malley._

But how could she, when she was listening to Hope and this new girl, Lottie, bleat about make-up routines? Maeve used the stuff, sure, but it was hardly a religion, and hardly warranted the amount of collective brainpower it was consuming.

“I’ll wear it for big nights, I guess.” Maeve was dismissive, looking towards the door for some kind of escape.

“It’s so important to let your skin breathe.” _Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care_ –

A dainty redhead poked her head around the door and smiled tremulously at them - Maeve knew in an instant that she wouldn’t last, one way or another. But she seemed sweet, and a welcome distraction from the others.

“Hey! Come on in.” Lottie looked upset at first that she was no longer the centre of Maeve’s attention, but she seemed to warm to the younger girl almost instantly and Maeve allowed herself to fall into the background, watching them talk about men and how they were all catastrophes (said the girls that were on Love Island, the show where the sole, explicit purpose was…to meet men) and–

“Hello, everyone.”

Maeve had to do a double-take, eyes torn between warm, brown eyes and the wide flare of this girl’s– _woman’s_ –hips, settling on a neutral spot somewhere past her ear.

_Cool it, O’Malley._

“Hey!” Hannah seemed intimidated by Marisol–even her name was gorgeous–but still tried to smile invitingly, which Marisol– _Marisol, Marisol, Marisol_ –seemed to appreciate.

“You’ve all been getting to know each other already, I see.”

“Hardly, we’re not long here ourselves.” Maeve had stayed silent until then, and watched as Marisol cocked her head and appraised Maeve lazily, Maeve feeling her spine straighten instinctively as her nerves sang.

“Well, you’re going to be strong competition, I can tell.”

Maeve hadn’t blushed since she was in her early teens, but she could feel colour rising in pale cheeks, quickly hidden by Hope, and Maeve had never been so thankful for the other girl taking the reins.

Maeve O’Malley had never been good at playing it cool - and she was hardly about to start now.


	2. When you sit with one who is hostile

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Maeve blinked owlishly at the question, before furrowing her brow. “What do you mean?”

Marisol rolled her eyes as she enunciated even more clearly than before. “ _Why are you being so nice to me?_ I thought _Lottie_ was your BFF.” There was scorn there at the mention of Lottie’s name, and something else that made Maeve’s pulse quicken at the possibility.

 _Because I hate seeing you sad. Because you deserve better than him. Because I want to be the one to make you smile_.

“Because you deserve to find love as much as anyone else. And if you think you’ve found that with Rocco,” and Maeve couldn’t help the way her lips twisted around his name, like she was sucking on a wasp, “then you deserve to pursue that.”

For Maeve’s part, Rahim was a lovely-looking boy, but they were chalk and cheese, and both seemed to have disengaged from their couple almost simultaneously on the fourth day, the morning after the recoupling once they knew they were safe.

Was Maeve pining? Almost certainly. But unlike on the outside, when she had pined after girls that were categorically not interested, there always seemed to be a flicker of _something_ in Marisol’s rich brown eyes that allowed Maeve to continue nursing a small flame of hope somewhere deep in her chest.

Marisol hummed thoughtfully at Maeve’s words, diminutive fingers drawing random shapes on the back of Maeve’s hand on the lounger. “I think sometimes we just have to shoot our shot. I’ve been saying that since day one.”

And Maeve, feeling her pulse pound in her ears and cursing herself even more than normal, stood up then, disengaging from the touch that was making her nerve endings sing, and rocked back onto her heels.

“Well, the girls won the cocktail party, so whenever you’re ready to come and talk about your shooting skills, I’ll see you up there.” Maeve turned on her heel and moved towards the Villa proper, only barely hearing Marisol’s voice on the breeze.

“I always have more ammo, cariño.”


	3. Loving Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You broke my nose!

Maeve saw rather than felt the evidence of her broken nose, a geyser of blood pouring from her nose onto her white swimsuit. Still not in pain, Maeve looked up to see Bobby and Henrik with mouths agape, and the offending frisbee lying almost innocently on the astroturf next to her. As if it hadn’t just broken her nose.

However, she felt rather than saw Marisol’s care, her concern…and then? Her _rage._

Maeve was a translator, yes - but a _legal_ translator, and she was fairly confident that none of the words coming out of Marisol’s mouth now had ever been used in a court docket or a shipping contract or anything else of the kind. _Narcos_ had nothing on this shit, and Maeve, habitually filthy-mouthed herself in English, found herself flushing almost instinctively at the sheer range of insults thrown at both boys.

“Mari, I’m ok, I just–” Maeve had never been a convincing liar, and her body betrayed her then, a wince of pain breaking through her poor attempt at a poker face.

“You’re _bleeding_ and you’re still defending them?!” Marisol’s concerned anger seemed to lack a target, and flowed out of her in waves, delicate fingers stroking Maeve’s cheeks one moment and jabbing into the air the next.

“I’m bleeding but I’m breathing. We can work the rest out some other time, _mi amor_.”

And Marisol stilled then, and resumed drawing soothing shapes on Maeve’s skin until the paramedics arrived, providing a quick Spanish summary for the ambulance crew and climbing into the ambulance before she could be told otherwise by a producer. One of the producers opened their mouth, looked at Henrik (still guilty and shell-shocked) and seemed to think better of it.


	4. Qué haría yo sin ti?

The ambulance was loud, and jolted Maeve painfully from side to side as Marisol tried to hold a compress to her bloodied nose, whispering terms of endearment in any language she thought might soothe her.

Maeve’s eyes felt heavy - but Marisol had been given strict instructions not to let Maeve fall asleep, even if she asked ( _especially_ if she asked), so Maeve jerked awake at the feeling of pinching on her cheek.

“Hmm?” Maeve was starting to feel blissed out from painkillers, and the sight of Marisol above her did little to change that. _She picked me. She did that, in front of all of them_.

“ _Mi amor,_ you have to stay awake. I’m bored.” And Marisol pouted then, her lips jutting out in a way calculated to have a profound effect on Maeve at the best of times. High on painkillers? _Devastating_.

Maeve didn’t speak for a few moments, caught up in the way that Marisol’s eyes seemed almost golden as she looked down at Maeve, the harsh light in the ambulance almost giving her a halo.

“Kiss me, _mi cielo_.” Maeve implored her, and Marisol only paused for a moment, eyes fixed on the blood still coming (although slower now) from her nose, before deciding that she could not refuse her. Her lips were feather-light, but Maeve felt like she was flying, grinning against Marisol’s still immaculately made-up lips.

“ _Qué haría yo sin ti_?” Maeve murmured, eyes struggling to focus as she missed the way Marisol raised her eyes to the ceiling to stop tears from failling.


	5. Pay your dues

"I don't understand how such a small body puts away so much food." Marisol is shaking her head fondly, stirring sweetener into almost sinfully black coffee.

“It’s my civic duty.” Maeve looks up briefly from the plate in front of her, before cramming another eclair into her already-full mouth.

“How do you figure that?” Marisol’s eyebrow is quirked as she sips daintily at her drink, humming as the bitterness hits her tongue.

“Well, I didn’t get these,” and at this she takes a generous handful of one of her own breasts, before carrying on as if nothing had happened, affecting not to notice the way Marisol’s eyes widen falling to her chest, before they narrow again as she continues, “without paying my dues. Gary’s got arm day, Henrik’s got leg day…”

“And you’ve got tit day.” Marisol remarks drily, and rolls her eyes at Maeve’s answering finger guns.

“I knew you were the smart one in our relationship.”


	6. Rain down on me

“I just don’t understand why it matters.”

Marisol tried to keep walking, even as Maeve grabbed her elbow, already damp from Portsmouth’s persistent drizzle, to spin her around. “It’s the principle of it.”

“If life were all about principles, I’d be out of a job.” Marisol’s lips quirked then in what would usually be a blush-inducing smirk, but Maeve was too far gone (or not far gone enough) to notice.

“You’re being deliberately bloody obtuse.” Maeve took some satisfaction in seeing Marisol’s eyes narrow at that, her façade slipping. “All I want is for you to tell me roughly when you’ll be home. Not an exact answer. Just a guesstimate.”

“But if I don’t know then what’s the point of saying?”

“Because then I won’t be sitting at home looking like a twat at your dinner getting cold, or wondering if I should wait before watching the telly, or–”

“You don’t need to interrupt your life for me.” Marisol’s diminutive frame was as tense as Maeve had ever seen it, and she realised with some trepidation that she had hit a nerve. Maeve spoke quickly, then, to cut Marisol off before she could carry on, doing her best to hold Marisol’s gaze rather than look at the strengthening shower.

“But I want to. I just–” And Maeve felt her shoulders sag, the energy it had been taking to keep her distance and hide her emotional underbelly leaving her all at once. “I want to know that you still want–” And Marisol’s eyes softened, just a touch, at that.

“Of course I want you, _mi amor_. And us.” And even though they had been arguing for half an hour, Maeve couldn’t help the pleased flush that bloomed on her cheeks at the endearment. Maeve felt warmth then through the damp cold as Marisol’s thumb gently stroked her cheek. “Always have, always will.”


	7. Attitude is a little thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Height-difference kiss (but Marisol is always the short one, so I thought I'd treat her <3)

They had spent some time at the historic dockyard in Portsmouth before Marisol had to catch her train back to London, and now they are loathe to part _again_.

“When the flat’s been sold, we’ll be able to be in London permanently. Together.” Marisol tries to reassure Maeve, but Maeve doesn’t seem to be able to hear her over the irrational (she hopes) whirring of her own brain.

 _What if she forgets me_? It is difficult for Maeve to imagine what she would do if Marisol weren’t a part of her life somehow - she would have her work, her friends, her family, but it was like Marisol supercharged all of that and enhanced it.

Marisol, seeming to sense Maeve’s distraction, swipes soft thumbs across high cheekbones, before withdrawing, walking up the ramp and peering down at her from the raised station platform.

“I’ll text you when I get there.” Marisol’s eyes are warm, and as if drawn to each other as moths to a flame, Maeve lifts up onto her tiptoes at the same time that Marisol leans down over the railing. Given their height difference, the angle is unfamiliar and, as she feels Marisol’s confidence grow, licking into Maeve’s mouth determinedly, Maeve realises with an odd flush that she _likes_ it.

“ _Call me_.” Maeve’s voice is hoarse even to her own ears, and she doesn’t even mind the wicked smile Marisol flashes her.


	8. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss/hug combination that knocks the air from you

It was more common for Marisol to be away for work, negotiating contracts and schmoozing with prominent members of the legal profession. But sometimes, Maeve would have to travel herself, usually for clients in remote areas whose internet access could not be trusted.

Maeve jiggled her leg anxiously as the flight touched down, rushing through customs as fast as humanly possible and spilling out into the main terminal along with everyone else from the flight.

A force hit her then, arms squeezing around her middle as best they could, and Maeve was hit with a wave of rhubarb and daffodil before Marisol’s lips were on hers, firm and demanding as she ever was. Marisol kissed her until her lungs started to burn, and only broke the kiss to let Maeve breathe as best she could while still holding her in a vice grip.

Maeve chuckled breathlessly at the feeling of Marisol against her after nearly two weeks (the longest they had been apart since leaving the Villa together) and she let shaking fingers run through Marisol’s hair.

“Let’s not do that again.” Marisol’s answering hum made the skin at the hollow of Maeve’s throat vibrate, and Maeve closed her eyes, ignoring the hustle and bustle around them for a little longer.


	9. It's beginning to look a lot like...

Marisol wasn’t a miserable person, by any means. But it was certainly rare to see her as she was now, eyes bright and teeth visible in a broad grin that made Maeve’s heart flutter.

They had both finished work early and had walked to the Southbank, where the Christmas market was well underway. Something about Marisol seemed to come alive as she moved among the people, some of whom seemed to recognise the pair of them from the show, asking Marisol for autographs and selfies (never Maeve, and she tried not to internalise _that_ , realising with a jolt that she’d never _cared_ enough to be jealous of others’ attention).

Marisol obliged, having grown more image-conscious since the Villa, but her attention, brighter and warmer than the Sun, always returned to Maeve. Maeve felt her heart stutter, stall, and then taking flight, reaching top speed in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you for coming.” Maeve was genuine in her thanks, and Marisol beamed.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, _mi amor_.” And when their lips touched, it made the anxiety in Maeve fade away and replaced it with happiness, pure and buzzing and _bright_ beyond all measure.


	10. The only people up are in love, lonely or drunk

Maeve was pulled from a bizarre dream involving mirrors and carnivals and shapeshifting to the sound of _The Belle of Belfast City_ blaring out from the phone next to her head. With a groan, she answered, waiting for the other person to start talking.

When nothing came, she frowned, sitting upright in their bed. “Mari? What’s wrong?”

“Before you say anything, yes **_I know it’s 3am, but this couldn’t wait_**.”

“…go on.” Maeve had been _told_ the expression ‘Curiosity killed the cat’, but had never really internalised it. Much to Marisol’s annoyance, _usually_.

“The case against my client’s been dropped. Full expenses paid, personal apology from the prosecution, the works. So…” Marisol trailed off expectantly, as if bracing herself for what was to come.

“So you’ll be here!” Maeve had been spiralling into a depressive slump realising that she would be spending her first Christmas with Marisol alone - that that would not be the case was like a shot of adrenalin, and sleep was entirely forgotten.

“I will be back in time to watch you unwrap your presents, _mi amor_.”

Maeve squealed happily, and could feel, even if she couldn’t see, Marisol’s pained but loving wince on the other end of the phone. “I haven’t even _peeked_ , I’ve been so good!”

“You are good. My good girl.” Marisol almost purred, and Maeve audibly gulped. _Fuck, I’m in trouble._


	11. Like a walnut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flufftober 2020 Prompt: Hurt/comfort

Head-splitting agony, sharp light pulsing and stabbing at her, feeling like Rhett Butler really was smashing her skull like a walnut.

Maeve had a headache, and it was a _corker_.

One of the beauties of being freelance was that she didn’t _have_ to do anything. Of course, eventually she would starve, but for what felt like a short while, Maeve allowed herself to rest and sleep, eyes fluttering open every so often to check whether she still felt like vomiting (she did).

She thought she was dreaming when she felt cool, dainty fingers card through her flame-red curls - until one of those fingers caught and she was jolted awake.

“Ow–”

“Sorry, mi _amor_. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Marisol was _there_ , which meant–

“Shit, I–” _I’ve slept all day_. Maeve started to tense up, thinking about dinner and work and–

“Shh, _amor_.” And Marisol’s fingers were cool and _soft_ against Maeve’ temple, and it was the balm she needed, and a small murmur of satisfaction left Maeve without her even realising.

_I could get used to this._


	12. Soul meets soul on lovers' lips

Marisol knew damn well what she was doing.

The white suit hugged her curves just so, the slit at the back of her skirt grazing the dimples on the backs of her thighs that Maeve worshipped, and as Marisol looked over at Maeve from where she was talking to one of her old uni friends, she arched her back and--

_Did she just wink at me?_

Opting to stop wasting time, Maeve smoothed her black dress down and sidled up to Marisol, taking her aside for a moment under the pretense of going to find another mutual friend, and Marisol’s triumphant smirk could have been seen from space.

Once ensconced in a corner, Maeve dove in for a kiss, angling her head as she allowed her fingers to dip underneath the waistband of Marisol’s skirt...only for Marisol to put a manicured finger to her lips.

Before Maeve could allow any hurt to bubble up, Marisol leaned up and kissed her, hands cradling Maeve’s face to control the pace and licking the inside of her mouth like she owned it. Which she obviously _did_ , Maeve realised for the hundredth time, breath hitching in the beginning of a moan--

And Marisol pulled away as if nothing had happened, checking her lipstick in the hall mirror before looking back at a still-stunned Maeve, who now had to lean against the wall for support.

“ _Paciencia, mi amor_.”


	13. The Perfect Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The perfect gift (Flufftober 2020)

It was 7PM on a Wednesday - the sun was shining, the birds were singing…

And Maeve? Maeve was _panicking_.

Maeve was many things, by her own admission - intelligent, spunky, hot as shit…and dyspraxic as all hellfire.

So all it took was a momentary lapse of concentration, and the beautiful glass trinket box (the same colour as her eyes), bought in secret for their three-year anniversary and expertly hidden, against all odds, from Marisol (the best finder in the known universe) for the best part of a month…lay shattered on the floor, mere feet away from where it was about to be lovingly (safely) wrapped.

It was there that Marisol found Maeve later that evening, crouched over the shattered remains of her perfect present, mutely looking at a small cut on her palm.

Marisol moved quickly to kneel carefully next to Maeve, gracefully avoiding the shards of glass. “What happened, my darling?”

“It–” Maeve, who had been silent and still for well over an hour, took in a deep, shuddering breath before she sobbed out, “it–it was my anniversary gift for you and it was _perfect_ –”

“You are the perfect gift, _mi amor_. You.” Marisol cradled Maeve against her chest, until Maeve’s shuddering subsided and a calm settled over them both.


	14. In a sky full of stars, I only saw you

Even though it sometimes took a Herculean effort to maintain, Marisol and Maeve had always stuck to their Wednesday date night, for the last eight years, come rain or shine. And tonight was no exception.

Unintentionally, they seemed to have taken a leaf out of Gary’s book, from all those years ago, as they found themselves in Canary Wharf, fingers intertwined as they looked up at the dazzling lights and harsh angles of the city skyline at night.

They had stayed together, even when Marisol wavered after visiting her _abuela_ in Spain, even when they found out they couldn’t have children, even when Maeve sunk into a deep depression after the accident. They had stayed, and grown, and flourished, like honeysuckle and hazel.

“When did you know you wanted me?” Marisol spoke suddenly, breaking the calm silence that had settled over them like a blanket.

“The first night.” As cheesy as it had sounded, Maeve remembered it as if it were yesterday. She had found Marisol attractive from the get-go, no doubt. Soft curves and sharp intellect, a deadly combination.

_“But how do we ever truly know what we experience?” Marisol is jabbing a finger into Gary’s bicep, making him wince even as he chuckles._

_“Pretty sure I experienced that, babe.” And Maeve can’t yet describe the ripple of emotion that runs through her when he calls Marisol that, and she isn’t sure she wants to try…yet._

_“Experience is so subjective. José-Luis Díaz found that…” Like someone’s flipped a switch, Maeve’s world is suddenly lit up - the_ passion _Marisol radiates, the warmth, outshines the stars and Maeve feels heat rise in her cheeks from more than the champagne._

_Fuck._

“You were arguing with Gary about subjective experience and… _In a sky full of stars, I only saw you.”_ Maeve affected not to notice the small tear that formed in the corner of Marisol’s eye at that, or the way Marisol’s perfectly-manicured nails dug into Maeve’s palm as their hands weaved closer still.


End file.
